


Squeaky Clean

by NeoVenus22



Category: iCarly
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Periodically, the idea crossed Spencer's mind that he should put some kind of lock on his bathroom door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squeaky Clean

Periodically, the idea crossed Spencer's mind that he should put some kind of lock on his bathroom door. There had been a few instances in the past year that made him wonder if some sort of _Psycho_-themed death was in his future.

He jumped a little bit when he heard the bathroom door open, jumped even more when the shower curtain was yanked roughly to the side. But it wasn't stabby death waiting for him, it was Freddie's mom, who stood there with the edge of the rubber ducky-patterned plastic curtain balled in her hand, saying nothing.

"Uh, hi... Mrs... Benson..." said Spencer nervously, and the hand clutching the bright yellow loofah slowly made its way down his sudsy body to hide some unmentionables. He'd been surprised in the shower, yes, but oddly, the previous times, no one had really paid him any notice. Not this time.

"Hello, Spencer."

"Can I, uh... can I help you with something?" he asked. The water was still going, and the suds were fleeing his body, making him feel a lot more exposed. Particularly considering that this fact had not escaped Marissa Benson's notice.

"I'm fine, thank you," she said brusquely. "Carry on." With that instruction, which left absolutely no wiggle room, she went over, primly put down the lid on the toilet, and sat on top of it, her purse on her lap, her back stiff, her stare trained hawkishly on him. Spencer was a little flabbergasted that Mrs. Benson was even touching a toilet without being heavily armed with disinfectant or looking once like she had the willies.

"Carry on?"

"With what you're doing," she said, gesturing impatiently.

"I..." said Spencer, but couldn't think of a good enough argument. He did have to finish showering eventually, and if he knew Mrs. Benson at all, she wasn't just going to up and change her mind. So he scrubbed, forgoing his usual humming, trying desperately to ignore her gaze which followed him like laser beams, no matter which way he turned. Actually, turning was probably making things worse.

"So, uh, how did you get in here?" he said, his voice squeaking a little on the last word, which was weirdly more embarrassing than any of the rest of the affair.

"This really works better if you don't talk, Spencer," she instructed.

"Okay."

"And be thorough, would you?"

Spencer spent half the time covered in paint and clay and food and any number of disgusting substances; as if he wouldn't be thorough. Still, he did his best to make his usual shower as meticulous as possible, painfully aware of every subtle intake of breath when Mrs. Benson thought he wasn't doing an acceptable job. Spencer went back and did it again.

Finally, soap-free and probably so squeaky-clean that if he ran a finger over his skin it would make a dog howl, Spencer turned off the water and glanced at his audience. "Going to hand me a towel?"

Mrs. Benson didn't answer him. She just got to her feet, clutching her purse to her abdomen, and bustled out of Spencer's bathroom without another word. Spencer fumbled for a towel and wondered why she hadn't said a word about the water he'd splashed on the floor when the curtain wasn't there to catch it.

Then again, he couldn't judge anyone on their behavior when he couldn't be bothered to get a lock.


End file.
